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Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Chronic Pain

I extinguish the leafy, warm lamp.
Behind my daughter’s elemental
mind, a second
mind spins; it captures

that moment’s pig, squeaking
with a voice that separates worldly love
from a spiritual love. You can’t compare it
to the drown and out medication
sinking her like the bricks
of Atlantean streets.

Flickering stops
quickfire thoughts; development curls
the branches of a Trinitarian tree over her
sleeping pillow, wipes everything new,
hushes the furnace of
each aching synapse.

Her night bear stitches the
seashells to her pain. You can’t
show this type of love human 
to human. Still, sandy blonde matted,
eyes marbled, she clenches a Roseart yellow
crayon in her vengeful teeth. She swings
the monster’s club,
observes my heart,
discovers lost cousins
in the indian forests.

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